Scipio was out in his meadow gathering horses, and he came to the bank with a question:-- “Find the eggs them ducks laid in the water?” “Jimsy wanted to know why you didn’t stay to dinner,” was my answer. “Huh!” Scipio watched me land a half-pound fish. Then: “They ain’t been married a year yet.” I cast below a sunken log and took a small trout, which I threw back, while Scipio resumed: “Why I didn’t stop to dinner! Huh! Say, when did they quit havin’ several wives at wunst?” “Who quit?” “Why, them sheep-men back in the Bible--Laban and Solomon and them old-timers. What made ’em quit?” “They didn’t all quit. There, you’ve made me lose that fish. Are you thinking two wives would be twice as bad as one?” “You’ll get another fish. I’m thinking they wouldn’t be half as bad as one.” Certain passages in Scipio’s earlier days came into my mind, but I did not mention them to him. Possibly he was thinking of them himself. “Two at once is not considered moral in this country,” I said. Scipio mused. “I’m not sure I’ve ever clearly understood about morals,” he muttered. “Are you going to keep that whitefish?” “I always keep a few for the hens. Makes ’em lay.” This caused Scipio to look frowningly across Buffalo Horn to where the Culloden Ranch buildings lay clear in the blue crystal of the afternoon light. “Marriage ain’t learned in a day,” he remarked, “any more than ropin’ stock is. He ain’t learned how to _be_ married yet.” Again I thought of Scipio’s past adventures and remembered that the best critics are they who have failed in art. “Did you mean what you said about hunting with me?” Scipio now inquired. “Sure thing!” I returned, “if you’re right about Honey Wiggin.” “Oh, I’m right enough. You’ll see him come by here Monday.” “Then I’ll send East for my things,” I said. “Well, I’ll be looking for a man to cook and horse-wrangle,” said Scipio.